


Let me Lead You

by Periwinkle_paulie



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: 50s Greasers, Bad Pick-Up Lines, Cigarettes, Fluff, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mentions of Elvis Presley Songs, One Shot, Slow Dancing, Sweet, Young
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 09:52:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19827682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Periwinkle_paulie/pseuds/Periwinkle_paulie
Summary: “I don't know how to dance.”“You don't know how to dance?” John asked, appalled. “Let me show you, son.”





	Let me Lead You

The orange street lights contributed to the low, warm glow of the fag tucked between his digits, his boot kicking little circles around Paul's foot, and before he knew it, his heel was attempting to scrape against the other teddy boy's ankle. 

“It's getting late.” Paul mumbled at last, his hand laying clasped over the grip John had on Paul's upper thigh. The air was cool against his cheeks, the smell of thick cigarette smoke and John's cologne causing his nose to twitch. Of course it wasn't the strongest; Paul's nose had been vulnerable to such scents before. However, the usually calming nicotine struck a feeling of uneasiness into his lungs, and it burned a scar into them, as if it were restricting his airway. 

“Yeah?” John coupled dryly, one of his thick eyebrows raised in interest, and Paul had to force himself not to make eye contact with the other man. Paul swore if he looked into those dark, cool eyes, that he would break down. John, even when he wasn't trying, created a sense of fear inside of him, multiplying with something that could only be considered.. Comfort? 

Shy, Paul avoided the other's eyes, and he was almost proud that the only light source were the streetlamps because, maybe, just maybe, it would help to lessen the blow of the dark crimson flaring on his cheeks. “Oi, mate, it's just eleven. Your da' will be fine without ye for a lil' while.” John added with that devilish smirk of his, his lips wrapping around the ciggie for a nice puff, and the cherry sported an angry red head in reply. 

Paul swallowed thickly, his dark eyes flickering to the cigarette, then for a split second, his lashes curled up as he looked into John's gaze. “Are you sure?” Paul argued. Good god. Why did he have to love John, of all people? 

John wasn't queer.. 

Was he? 

Shifting uncomfortably, Paul avoided the daring flare in John's eyes, the flare that he loved so much, the flare that kept John so lively. 

Paul wished he was that lively.. 

“Macca, what is up with you?” John throatily laughed, playfully leaning over to poke his elbow against Paul's rib cage, which evoked a soft, barely audible laugh from Paul. The younger greaser feigned confusion, his smile becoming so big that the corners of his eyes creased. 

“What are ye going on about?” He snickered, Paul's teeth scraping against his lower lip. 

“I mean your face is red as a bloody tomato, and ye zone out every five seconds. What is it, Macca? Ye on Mary Jane, lad?” John inquired, his palm ever so gently laying over where it had before, Paul's thigh, before he gave the skin a light squeeze. The subtle sign of affection made Paul squeak out in surprise, his body jolting into the palm of John's hand. 

When Paul eventually was able to relax, he quickly shook his head, totally unconscious to the fact that his breath was— surprisingly— slightly hitched. Out of anxiousness, Paul couldn't even comprehend what words were leaving his lips: “I- I've never learned to dance!” he exclaimed, his face flushing at his outburst. Not only that, but it was totally false. He hadn't ever learned to dance, but that wasn't the cause of his worry. 

He was in love with John.

“And with the dance coming up, I'm nervous some bird will ask me out and I won't know what to do.” 

For a moment, the streets became thick with silence, anticipation hanging in the air, and even the smoke from John's fag seemed to duck beneath the tension between the two boys. 

Paul never learned to dance? 

Now that was a treat. 

“You've never learned to dance?” John asked, bewildered. As fast as John's face was surprised, John's expression quickly absorbed into laughter, his crooked smile making Paul shiver and tremble with embarrassment. “You're alright, son. I'll teach ye.” 

John's composure and the reassurance caused Paul's eyes to grow big as two saucers; Paul must have looked silly. John was probably silently judging him. 

John stood up from where he was standing, the same stupid cigarette in his free hand as he helped Paul up to his feet. When John's hand lapped at the curve of Paul's hip, his face flooded with confusion when he was greeted with nothing but scornful, stiff limbs, and the recognizable account of anxiousness written all over Paul's face. “Relax, love,” John laughed. “I've got you, yeah? Follow my lead.” 

Slowly, when Paul was able to gain poise, his arm wrapped around John's broad shoulders, his face feeling like it was on fire when their hands intertwined. John held onto him so securely, and Paul felt so safe in his arms, the scent of oranges and motor oil fueling Paul's senses, and only threading further in his nervousness and tying the anxious knot in his stomach worse. 

Something bubbled in Paul's abdomen, made him feel queasy, butterflies flapping their wings in his gut and tickling his rib cage, and the only thing he could hear was the blood flowing through his ears. 

“One,” John instructed, his arm tightening around Paul's hip when he felt the latter step on his shoe. However, John just chuckled warmly, his eyes expressing such happiness, content, and for a moment, Paul could see the fiery dominance in John's eyes vanish, quickly to be replaced by something much, much sweeter. John's eyes were warm, like dark, smooth chocolate, and they smiled. Smiled. 

“Two,” He went on, his grin stretching from ear to ear when for a split second he could see Paul starting to catch on, when their steps moved in sync and he even spotted Paul's demure little smile. To furnish that sweet grin of the other, John gave a soft, barely noticeable squeeze to Paul's knuckles. 

Wide eyed and sweet, like a young school girl with a juvenile crush, Paul stepped just a bit closer to John, the leather of their jackets brushing as Paul leaned his head against John's shoulder. With the only most secure of embraces, John held him near, his breath grazing Paul's temple as he spoke. 

“Paul,” He began, and even with the soft, barely noticeable tone, Paul jerked and his eyes shifted to meet John's, and the undertone of honey and hazel exploding in Paul's orbs left John breathless. Paul was absolutely stunning. How could he be so blind? “I don't want a bird to take you to the dance.”

Paul furrowed his eyebrows. “What?” he began, attempting to continue his question before John broke him off with a sudden peck, so sudden that it caused Paul's breath to be robbed from his lungs. 

“I want to take you.”


End file.
